A stranger beside me on a flight asked, “Could you pretend you fell asleep on my shoulder?” I almost said no. I had just left Chicago with my five-year-old daughter, two suitcases, and a marriage that had fallen apart three days earlier. But I agreed. Two hours later, I woke up still leaning against him—and discovered the quiet man beside me was one of the country’s best-known billionaires. Then my phone reconnected, and a message from my ex-husband appeared: I KNOW YOU TOOK FIONA TO NEW YORK.

I stared at him.

“You’re serious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Why?”

“Because if they think I’m traveling with family, they may lose interest.”

I looked at the people watching him.

Then back at him.

“Are you famous?”

His mouth twitched.

“Unfortunately, sometimes.”

That should have made me more suspicious.

Instead, he sounded so sincerely unhappy about it that I almost smiled.

“Five minutes,” I said.

“Five minutes.”

I adjusted Fiona, who was watching a cartoon with headphones on, and carefully rested my head against Luca’s shoulder.

Across the aisle, the phone lowered.

One of the women ahead turned around once more, saw us, and faced forward.

Luca exhaled.

“Thank you.”

“You owe me coffee.”

“Done.”

I closed my eyes.